


Spear Fishing

by themantlingdark



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-08
Updated: 2018-12-08
Packaged: 2019-09-13 18:18:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16897599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themantlingdark/pseuds/themantlingdark
Summary: Thor and Loki spend an afternoon at the river.





	Spear Fishing

"Are you free at noon?" Loki asks, popping his head in the door while Thor is dressing. 

 

Loki has a knack for that. For finding his brother in various states of undress. For putting him there. 

 

"Aye," Thor grunts, nodding and lacing his tunic.

 

"Meet me in the stables."

 

Thor nods, and Loki disappears to do more of whatever it is Loki does. Thor doesn't ask, and that way he isn't obliged to disapprove or intervene. 

 

Ignorance is bliss.

  
  


Thor spars with Sif all morning, hard enough that it won't seem odd when he says he isn't coming back after lunch.

 

It's late spring. The sun is hot on his skin, but the air is cool enough to soothe it. In another week or two it will only be hot, and Loki will be irritable. More so.

The darkness of the barn is disorienting after the burning white of the sky outside. Thor stands, blinking, waiting for his eyes to adjust. When they do, he sees Loki, smirking at him, his right eyebrow raised in amusement.

 

Loki chooses a mount and murmurs a spell. Thor tries not to grin. He recognizes this ward. The one that hides them from all sight. It has always been his favorite - he has passed the happiest hours of his long life within its grip. 

 

Loki hands Thor a quiver of arrows, but no bow, and hops up onto the horse. Thor climbs up to sit behind him, chest pressed close against Loki's back, lips on his neck and fingers on his waist. They use no saddle or reins. Loki guides the horse with a press of his leg or a hand on its neck, sometimes a word or light tug on its mane. They follow a stream far out into a meadow.

 

Loki chooses a spot based on some criteria Thor can't divine, for it looks exactly like every other bit of the last six miles of their ride.

 

They slide to the ground and their horse wanders off to munch grass. Loki takes the quiver from Thor and sets it down by their feet. His tunic soon joins it there, so Thor follows suit. They swim in the stream, working their way up against the current and letting it carry them back where they started. Thor stops and stands to give himself a thorough scrubbing. Loki continues to fight the stream and then surrender to it, letting it crash him into Thor again and again until Thor catches him up, bites him, and tosses him downstream. Thor can hear Loki's laughter fade as the water carries him away. When he looks up again, there's no sign of his brother. He braces himself: there will be teeth on his ankle any minute.

 

Thor sees a pale shape moving along the stream bed and feels bony fingers and sharp incisors against his skin. He pulls his brother up by the hair.

 

"Hmmm. A river hag," Thor murmurs. "Don't catch one of these every day."

 

"I drown children," Loki chirps, and Thor dunks him. "And I eat them," Loki sputters, climbing up his brother's body, nibbling on bits of him as he goes.

 

"You eat men," Thor says, linking his fingers under Loki's backside to make a seat for him.

 

"I eat gods," Loki corrects, and Thor snorts and shakes his head.

 

Loki bites Thor's lip and then calms it with kisses. Thor sways in the center of the stream, where the water reaches their ribs. Loki remains wrapped around him, ankles hooked behind Thor's hips, arms looped around his neck. They let the cold water thrill their skin and press aimless kisses to each other's jaws.

 

"Come on," Loki says, leaning back to look at his brother. "I need the sun for this." 

 

Thor furrows his brow and carries Loki up onto the grass.

 

Loki picks up the quiver and pulls the arrows from it. There are only four, and they're wrapped in cloth.

 

He unrolls the fabric carefully, spreading it out and straightening it as he goes. It's lace. Eight feet long and four feet wide, with ribbon stitched to the corners. Loki stabs the arrows into the ground next to the edges of the cloth, standing them straight up in the air. Then he takes the ribbons and ties them to the tops of the arrows until he's left with a short shelter of lace, barely three feet tall.

 

Loki stretches out on his back under it and Thor gets down on his hands and knees and crawls closer. Loki pats the space beside him and Thor lies on his side, staring, head pillowed on Loki's shoulder. 

 

Now the tent makes sense to Thor. The lace casts its shadow on their skin, covering them from head to toe in graceful designs.

 

Tattoos won't work. They've tried. Their flesh is too resistant to change, devouring the ink and the scars, often within a day. Sometimes Loki will paint on their skin with ink from a squid. For himself, he traces runes across his chest and thighs in calligraphic script that draws Thor in like a lure. Perhaps it's meant to. It's always undone within the hour, smeared away by lips and fingers and bleeding off with sweat. On Thor's front, Loki paints beautiful symmetrical patterns, curving out from his sternum like ripples. On Thor's back, he writes words in tall straight letters with sharp strokes of his brush. Things like lovely, and day star, and mine.

  
  


The ground is spongy beneath them, soft from recent rain. It's almost entirely covered in clover, and the blossoms tickle their skin. Thor shifts his head to press his nose to the ground. He tries to take a deep breath but it gets caught in his throat halfway, as though the air is too thick to fit through his nostrils.

 

"Still can't do it?" Loki murmurs, rolling onto his side and touching the shadows on Thor's skin.

 

"Not even close. You try."

 

Loki buries his face in the grass and chokes upon inhaling. 

 

"I will never understand it," Loki sighs, shaking his head.

  
  


The lace Loki chose has round abstract designs on it. Whether they're meant as medallions, or flowers, or snowflakes, Thor can't tell, but he loves the way they spill and twist over his brother's pale skin. And how the splintered light catches shards of Loki's eyes, sending flashes of slate green glowing out at him. It makes Thor think of children concealing themselves badly in a game of hide-and-seek: feet poking out from beneath curtains, backsides sticking up under blankets. It looks like they've drawn blossoms all over their bodies to blend into the clover. And their tent can't even secrete them from the sun.

 

Thor turns Loki onto his back and leans down to kiss him, but soon stops. He's blocking Loki's light and the beauty of the shadows is lost. He lies back down on his side and watches the lines wash over Loki's cheek as they lick into each other's mouths. Both of them are distracted by the shapes on their brother's skin. Their hands keep to the darkness between them, twisting the puckered peaks of nipples, scratching lightly at the planes of breasts, stroking the vulnerable curves of bellies, squeezing warm cocks, and tugging soft fur. When Loki's face has gone slack with lust, Thor turns and crawls down his brother's thin body, lying on his side again with his lips at Loki's thighs.

 

The pattern runs up his long legs like a pair of ladies' stockings, and the thought makes Thor hum, but he doesn't mention it. He watches as the shadows on Loki's cock remain in place while he pulls the foreskin down. Loki is tracing the design on Thor's prick with his fingers and tongue, and after that he sets himself the hopeless task of licking it off. Thor shows his gratitude by doing the same.

 

They keep their eyes open, watching the lines of the lace stretch over their arms as they wrap them around each other's hips. It's like they're wearing one skin. The thought makes Thor spill sooner than he is expecting. Loki lasts much longer, keeping himself distracted by drawing the shadows on Thor's waist. He bites Thor's hip to stifle his shout when he spends.

 

As the day wears on, they shift farther and farther to the East to keep the shadows on their skin. When the angle becomes too sharp, the pattern disappears, and they reluctantly climb to their feet, shrugging on clothes and packing away their home of lace and arrows.

 

"What's our excuse today?" Thor asks, half asleep behind his brother, lulled by the horse's gait and Loki's humming.

 

"We went spear fishing," Loki supplies.

 

"Were we successful?"

 

"No. Two river hags chased all the trout away."

 

**Author's Note:**

> please don't comment or repost


End file.
